Comptesse
by merick
Summary: A love story based on the characters from BBC's Musketeers television program. Athos, Aramis and Porthos are dispatched by the King to safely guide a widow home to Paris. Her presence amongst the brothers causes strife as she, as well as they are forced to examine unfamiliar feelings and cope with the ramifications of those feelings.
1. Chapter 1

Will all respect due to The Three Musketeers, BBC version, and its source M. Dumas, I present a little love story. Forgive me if I drift back and forth in time for a little while.

Comptesse

As comfortable as the riding gear had ultimately proved to be, it had been a relief to discard it and the bindings around her chest once she'd reached her own rooms at the chateau; especially after so many days of endless wear and jostling on the back of her horse. Living her life in manor houses, with regular access to water and clean clothing had spoiled her a little for such niceties, and a single night at an Inn along their road had provided only a very brief respite from the journey; at least it had brought a physical one. The memories of that night threatened to haunt her for a great deal longer than the time it would take for sore muscles to calm and dirt to be washed away. She cast the sodden bandages that that provided her disguise into a basket for washing and rubbed some feeling into her skin with her palms.

Three Days Prior

They'd taken a large room, the attic in fact, set up with a table and a few pallets, a perfectly reasonable arrangement for a troop of men travelling to Paris, hoping to beat the winter snows. The innkeeper had delivered some roasted hens and some pitchers of ale, and had been compensated for it. Once those were dispatched, the others had gone to see to the condition of the horses, and to, no doubt, avail themselves of the tavern below, to warm themselves with more than just food. Athos had declined their invitation, likely because he was their captain, and of them all, his was the ultimate duty to keep her safe. It would do no good for the reputation of their ranks if her gold were to arrive safely in Paris without her. He had left the room to give her a few moments of solitude in order to discard the tunic and pants she had disguised herself in, in favor of a shift; the only clothing she'd brought with herself. Proper attire could be obtained once she reached her family's house: the tailor was likely already awaiting her arrival; and the basics she would need would have been laid in by the ladies of that household.

The men had created a bit of a privacy curtain for her, around one of the cots in the corner, so she hadn't seen Athos return, only heard him at the door, and then at the table, the heavy thump of a bottle contacting it, echoing in the small space. He'd taken one glassful of the deep red liquid by the time she'd gathered herself up into some semblance of modesty, and was pouring a second when she came out from behind the curtain.

"Is everything alright Athos?"

They had developed a bit of an easy friendship; -at least she had thought they had- over the course of the first few days of travel. It made her comfortable enough to inquire as to his state of mind, and to expect a response.

He turned his head away from the drink towards her, his deep-set eyes even more shadowed by the flickering candlelight in the room. She watched him take a deep breath in silence, his chest rising beneath his vest, then falling slowly. He nodded, not an answer, with no expression on his face except a hint of the respect he had always paid her. He looked tired, which was to be expected she supposed, they had ridden without more than a few minutes break all day, and the previous night had been spent on the road, where no one had managed much sleep despite the roaring fire and the shelter Porthos had constructed. It certainly wasn't the type of bed she was used to, not that she complained, not that any of them complained. They deserved the few hours of rest that the tavern offered. Athos seemed to have found his in the bottle on the table, not the last bottle she would see him with.

Present

Her brother had ensured that she had hairbrushes and pins, as well as a clean shift and robe and a meal in her rooms. Their party had arrived after sunset, the Musketeers had been provided with rooms for the night, and a communal meal. She imagined they were likely well into their cups by then; Athos especially as she had seen the staff carrying a bottle of port for him when they had dropped off her meal. And once again, she did not begrudge them the reprieve. They had fulfilled their duties in a most exemplary fashion and all had arrived safe if not completely sound at the chateau just on the environs of the city. She had been a little disappointed that they had lost the light before they had arrived, her family's home was a beautiful place, even in the winter, and she had spent the last few hours of the journey imagining it from her memories of leaving it when she'd been twelve.

The staff had kindly brought water for a bath, to warm her bones finally and clear the road from her skin. Sinking into it she let her head slip below its surface, listening to her own heart beating in the echoes, the memory tightening around her chest of that familiar pounding.

Three days ago

She didn't know exactly why she'd gone over to him, not really, or perhaps she just didn't want to admit it to herself? She knew that there had been an attraction on her part; he was a handsome man, with his slightly rumpled hair, dark eyes, and full mouth; one that spoke with such elegant words, acknowledging her intelligence and not just her position. It had been glorious to talk to him as they rode; hearing about the politics of Paris, and not the gossip that other visitors brought, thinking that was what she, as a woman would want to hear about. There was such an easiness about it. It would have been hard not to look favorably upon him given all that just for a start. But there had been more, a mutual respect, or at least it had seemed that way as they had ridden beside each other. Perhaps it was simply the loneliness of a foolish widow driving her forward, or the beginning of a new phase of her life? Whatever the impetus, she laid her hand lightly atop his shoulder as he looked up at her, his pupils wide, eyes liquid.

"What is it that haunts you Athis?"

"A great many things Comptesse."

His voice was flat, not at all she thought, the emotion his eyes betrayed.

"I may be small, but I have broad shoulders if you might wish to unburden yourself?"

His hand, strong, calloused, cold from its tight grip around his cup reached up to cover hers; she trembled, though the room was warm.

"I think that such things should not be shared with a lady my Comptesse."

"A terrible scandal then, such as would offend my sensibilities?"

"I suppose that would depend on your point of view." His lips curled up slightly in a sad sort of smile. It inspired some boldness in her.

"I consider myself to have a rather broad world view."

"I believe that Comptesse. But you do not deserve talk of such ugliness, not in such a peaceful place."

Indeed, it was surprisingly quiet considering what she knew must be going on below them in other rooms and in the tavern.

"Will your friends be returning soon do you think Athos?"

"Not too soon I think." He swung his legs around the bench he had been sitting upon. Her hand slid away from his shoulder and he caught it up in his own.

She swallowed, suddenly a little nervous, hearing her voice quivering.

"Then we might perhaps have a few more moments alone?"

"We might." He stood, still holding her hand, looking down at her, his free hand brushing away a strand of the blond hair, now free from its ties. She closed her eyes and listened to her stuttering breath, quiet unfamiliar. As he drew a little closer to her, his own breaths were also audible; as audible as her heartbeat suddenly became as she felt his body press against hers, pushing her backwards against the rough wall of the attic.

Present

The water around her suddenly did not feel so welcoming as the sequence of events came back to her, jumbled as they were, confused by the emotions they had raised. It was a moment in time that brought back feelings of recrimination, and she admonished herself for her foolishness as she tried to crawl out of the tub with some imitation of grace. She felt that if she could wrap herself in a robe, disguise her body into something formless, that somehow she could push the memories away forever. She belted it fiercely and picked up a brush to try to run it through her damp hair, but found her hands trembling so much that she could not hold it tightly enough, the paddle falling to the floor with a clatter.

She would have cursed, but her voice came out more like a sob.

Three days ago

His mouth on hers had been insistent, it was sweet from the liquor, and laced with a passion she had never felt. When she'd married she'd been only twelve, her husband much older. He'd been kind and gentle with her, pressing nothing on her till her womanhood had emerged. By fifteen she'd had her first son, by eighteen her second. By twenty-five there had been two miscarriages, and a daughter who had not survived past her first year. By thirty she was a widow. In all those years, never once had he laid an angry hand on her, and never once had he kissed her with the determination and desire that Athos offered.

The ladies in the kitchen and her maids had spoken of passions such as that; behind their hands, with giggles and hushed words, about how a man could make you feel when he lay with you. She had never thought that she would experience such a thing; indeed, she wondered whether or not the stories were even true, that men could act in that manner. Words she had heard from them tumbled from her mouth when Athos gave her leave to breathe. His hand, now untangled from hers had grabbed at her shift, bunching the fabric into his fist, his hand brushing upwards along her leg. She chanced to move her own hands down his sides, curving them over the small of his back, pulling his body closer to hers, sighing 'I am yours'. He froze.

"You should not make promises that you are not prepared to keep Comptesse." He whispered as he pulled away from her.

She was breathless, confused, and suddenly cold, her heart pounding against her chest, echoing in her ears violently.

"Who says that I am not prepared to keep them?" She challenged.

"I do." He turned back to his bottle on the table, picking it up and taking a harsh drink, eschewing the glass. "You should get some sleep. Tomorrow's ride will be long."

Present

She grit her teeth together, holding back tears that threatened, and reached for the brush from the cold stone floor. She ran it ferociously through the brown tangles of her hair, wanting the pain to help her focus her thoughts away from what Athos had done, away from how he had made her feel; foolish, angry, confused, and certainly sleepless that night.

Three days ago

She had tossed and turned practically that whole night, starting every time the door opened and closed again, half fearful that she would open her eyes to see his hands pulling back the makeshift curtain, half anticipatory that he would. And she cursed herself in the morning for that foolishness that had left her with blurry eyes and frustrated hands as she tried to buckle the leathers over her shoulder so she could once again take up her guise as a man. When the clasps slid out of her grasp for a third time she cursed out loud. She had thought she was alone.

"Comptesse?" Long fingers curled around the rough edge of the curtain, cautiously drawing it back.

"Aramis?" She felt her cheeks begin to turn red with embarrassment; she was a Comptesse, a gentile lady, and one who tried to demonstrate her self-sufficiency to others with proper manners and correct diction; certainly not by cursing out loud like a groom with a misbehaving horse.

"May I offer some assistance?" He did not let on any affront at her outburst.

Aramis was another of the Musketeers who had come to act as her guard. A tall man, a foot or more towering over her when he stood in his boots, dark brown hair tied back with a few errant strands of bronze framing an angular jaw, eyes an brown/black that reminded her of the clouds that foretold violent storm. He did not wear the same ruddy complexion of his companions; Athos and Porthos. Though he too wore the short beard and mustache that was the fashion of the time; even if the musketeers' were somewhat more unkempt than those of the nobles that she was more accustomed to seeing.

"I cannot seem to fasten this frustrating clasp here." She gestured at the brass pieces, still separate in her hands, holding back the curse words more modestly than before.

"Please, if you would allow me to help?" He waited for her permission before approaching her, or touching her.

"I would be most grateful sir."

He grinned, an odd, crooked sort of smile that inspired a response in kind. For a moment, she could push away the memories that had left her so out of sorts. He had the leathers in place in short order and held out his hands for her sword belt. Owing to his size in relation to hers, he knelt down on his knees in front of her, and reached his arms around her waist to buckle the belt, slinging it low on her hips, as his was. Not knowing what exactly to do with her hands and needing to keep them out of his way, she let them rest gently on his bowed head, not thinking about the type of scene it would make; not until the door was heaved open, and Athos stalked in.

He looked them up and down in only a second, eyes narrowing to an icy stare, not at all like wide-eyed innocence of Aramis' eyes.

"If you two want something to eat before we leave you had better come down now."

He spun with a violent swing of his arms and slammed the door behind him.

She'd spent the rest of the ride to Paris at the side of Aramis and Porthos, Athos unwilling to talk to her at all, saving the necessary commands and directions. She could not have failed to see the glances that passed between those brothers as Athos barked orders; not that they spoke a word against him. Aramis had been the one to come to her aid from then on, not that she required, or requested much from that point forward. At night around the campfires, the voices only rose when Athos retired to his bottle. Everyone was uneasy, but at least they stayed focused on the path and their surroundings, and not in idle talk. It had been a blessing to be greeted by her brother, no matter the hour.

Present

The knock on her door was purposeful, calling for attention in much the same way as the delivery of her dinner had been. Checking that her robe remained modesty tied she rose to open the door, expecting the servants to carry away the now cold bath water. But it was not they. The man before her, lit from the back by the torches in the hall was too tall and too large to be any of the good folk who scampered about the cold hallways seeing to her family's needs. No this was a musketeer, and it was Athos.

"Good evening." She greeted him with civility, trying to choke back the feelings that accompanied the flip-flop of her gut at the sight of him.

"Comptesse."

His voice was just as rich as it has always been, the noble French accent that exposed an upbringing much like her own; one of privilege. Though she had heard him curse under his breath, she had never yet heard vulgar words slip past his lips, a sign of decent breeding, something not easily forgotten, even in the company of soldiers.

"Are you in need of something? My understanding was that my brother had seen to your needs, and those of your men." She felt her right arm tighten involuntarily around her waist.

"He has, he has been most generous."

"I am glad to hear that." Her breeding, like his, supplied such a response by rote, she was pleased at the automatic response, not knowing what else she might say, now that she was alone in his presence once again.

"We will be departing in the morning for the garrison, our tasks discharged. I had wished the opportunity to speak with you once more before then. Privately."

She stepped backwards into the room, a tremble in her hands as she did so; wondering if he would follow, knowing that he would, wondering which man would take that step, and if she was prepared for whomever emerged.

"At the Inn," he began as he moved towards her. She looked into his hooded eyes, not even hearing the door close behind him. "You offered yourself to me."

She took a deep breath and let it slip pass her parted lips slowly, gathering her strength.

"As I recall, you seemed receptive to that, at first, with a most passionate kiss."

She watched tension ghost across his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

"It was."

"Then you pushed away from me sir, leaving me alone to my own confused thoughts."

"And you went to my brother for your comforts."

"What?" Breeding or not, she could not suppress the shock that accompanied the outburst.

"I chose to respect you, to protect your honor, to walk away. But you, you proved my assumptions incorrect, and took Aramis to your bed in my place."

She would not have believed that she could have felt more cold, but at that statement she was positively frozen, too stunned to even respond before he took another step towards her.

"You are not a lady, you are a whore."

She raised her right hand to slap him across the face, spitting at him with her outrage.

"Get out!"

He caught her at the wrist before she could make contact, and held her firmly.

"How dare you!" She hissed at him. "You are jealous. And you have no right. I felt your body pressed against mine. I am a widow, not a virgin, I know that you wanted me."

"I never said that I didn't want you."

"But you chose your drink, not me."

"And you chose Aramis."

His grip tightened to the point of pain. She held her voice against a scream, speaking through her teeth, glaring into the black eyes.

"You would turn to him, a man who has women throwing themselves at him wherever we go, a girl and a bed in every quarter of Paris."

"I have been with no man since the death of my husband. Yours was the first kiss I had received in all those years. I thought you were a gentleman."

"And I thought you a lady."

"I did not sleep with Aramis. He did nothing but find me in the morning and help me with my leathers." The pain became so severe she finally cried out. "You are hurting me!"

His face might have looked as shocked as hers had been only a few seconds earlier; if she had been able to see her own face to judge. He dropped her hand, which she immediately cradled to her breast.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, too ashamed to even look her in the eyes.

"Get out."

"I am so sorry."

"Get out or I will scream."

He backed away and closed the door as he left, allowing her to finally dissolve into tears.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

How dare he, how dare he?

She fumed to herself, all the while cradling her throbbing right wrist to her chest.

How dare he use that language, how dare he accuse her of such things, how dare he imply such fickleness on the part of her heart; that upon being rejected by him that she would, within the hour, turn to another man for physical needs?

How dare he tease her, come to her with arousal, and have it turn to venom?

How dare he presume such things of her?

And how dare he touch her with such violence?

Her tears burned hot as she sat upon the floor, trying desperately to focus her rage upon him, to deflect the niggling guilt that poked at her, the sense that somehow, some of this might have been her fault.

There came another knock at her door, this one more hesitant that that of Athos. She thought that it must be he again, contrite, horrified by his actions, or perhaps frightened at the consequences that might follow them; seeking to make amends. She was not prepared to see him again.

"Go away Athos." She called out meaning it to sound strong, though it did not.

The door opened just a hair.

"I do not want to see you, go away or I will scream."

It continued to be pushed open slowly, a different hand, one with longer fingers, more delicate of features nudging it, and so she did not scream when the five heralds brought forth a different face gazing down on her.

"Oh dear God, what has he done to you?"

Aramis was at her side on the floor, kicking the door shut with his foot, holding his hands back (with obvious determination) from grabbing her up as he took his measure of her condition. For her part she hid nothing from his eyes; not seeking to disguise her face, or the pain she wore upon it, mixed with the despair of the tear tracks and lips swollen from the salt.

"I saw him, returning to our rooms, the picture of misery and self loathing. He would say nothing to me about what had transpired and only shut himself away. I was worried, worried for you both, and now I find you like this? Has he," Aramis stuttered, quite unusual for him, he who had a jest or a smile for every situation, even the most uncomfortable ones. He had provided much needed levity over the last few days of their journey when Athos had shunned her with all but orders.

"Did he?" He tried to ask again.

The tears continued to roll down her cheeks. She held out her right hand carefully to him.

His hands were warm as he took it, holding it gently and immobile as he brushed his fingertips over the bones. His own eyes were welling with tears as he made his examination.

"I think he has broken it." His warm brown eyes looked into hers. "Are there bandages here that I might bind it?"

"You are in a woman's room good Aramis, there is a basket at the bottom of the wardrobe."

He laid her hand down slowly in her lap assuring it was supported before he turned away from her. As he fetched the bandages he spoke out loud, not willing, it was obvious, to see the answers in her eyes, holding his breath against them.

"Has he touched you anywhere else?"

"He did not. I swear it." Her voice remained weakened.

"Thank God." Aramis was able to turn around with some measure of relief on his face. "Let me see to your hand, I'm sorry, it may a hurt a little as I wrap it."

She nodded, swallowing back the little shriek that threatened as Aramis manipulated the bones of her wrist as gently as he could.

"Perhaps you could tell me what happened?"

"He believed that you and I had been intimate."

"What? When?"

"At the Inn."

Understanding dawned on his face.

"When he saw us in the morning, when I was helping you dress?"

"Yes."

"And he was so enraged that he broke your hand?"

"He was upset when he came me, seeking an apology. He called me hateful things. I raised my hand to him, but he caught it instead."

"And crushed it in his grasp?" Aramis shook his head. His upset at the vision of the injury was obvious. He choked down his own sob. "I'm going to tie this off, I'm sorry, it has to be tight to keep the bones from moving and causing further injury."

She winced as he pulled on the end of the bandage.

"I let him kiss me Aramis, at the Inn. I was forward. I should not have been, I led him on with my familiarity."

"Athos is a gentleman, at least I believed he was. I have never seen him beset with such anger towards a woman. I have seen him suffer from his own recrimination, and I have seen him in his cups to numb the aching of his heart, but never something like this. I fear I may betray his confidence with my words."

"He has been hurt in love?"

"Very deeply Comptesse. There have been times we feared he might lose himself in that misery, but he always came back to us, and to his duty. But still, there is never an excuse for hurting a woman in the midst of one's own misery. Especially not through misplaced jealousy." He tried to encourage her with a smile. "Come, let me help you stand." He slipped his arm under her right shoulder, and took her left hand, pulling them both upwards where she wavered a little against him.

"How does your hand feel now?"

"Secure, I thank you for that. How bad is the break?"

"Nothing that won't heal in a few weeks, as long as you keep it bound, and refrain from using it. You should have a proper physician see to it in the coming days."

"I will."

"What will you tell your brother, about the injury?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I will tell him I injured it riding my horse. Tomorrow you will all be gone, your duties to my family and I discharged. With you will go my shame, I will cloister myself as I should have done from the beginning."

"You have done nothing wrong Comptesse, you need not hide yourself away from the world, not when you have such beauty to share." He paused, his cheeks reddening along with a shy smile. "The only shame should be upon Athos."

"Will you tell your Captain what he has done?"

"Only by your grace Comptesse."

"Then I wish for it to remain a secret for all our sakes."

"For my sake as well, I don't understand."

"You have been accused of taking advantage of me during your duties. Are you not likewise upset?"

"I am not." His smile grew across his face, eyes crinkling at the edges, as he looked at her. "You are a beautiful woman. Had I been the recipient of your kiss or your tender embrace, I would count myself blessed indeed."

"Aramis?"

"I tell you only the truth. You are very beautiful, privileged but not haughty, well spoken but demure, kind and honest." He reached over to gently touch her face, tracing the fading paths of the tears.

"Athos was a fool in so many ways." His voice trailed off.

She bowed her head, finding herself confused suddenly, the pain pushed from her mind by the soft touch of his fingers. Athos' words echoed.

"What are you doing?" She whispered, unable to move away.

"I'm sorry. I, I forget myself." His voice remained quiet. She could feel his eyes still staring at her. "Comptesse?"

"Athos has said that you have many women, perhaps he has betrayed your confidence?"

"I was like that once. I will not lie about it."

"Was?"

"I met my own undoing, fell in love with a woman who was not mine to love. My foolishness could have cost lives. That was six years ago. I have been with no woman since then."

"You love her still?"

"I cannot."

"It is not the same thing."

"It isn't, you are right. Perhaps I am simply as big a fool as Athos. Haunted by a love from the past. But where I took to celibacy he took to self-loathing and the bottle. Though perhaps we do share the self-loathing." He showed her his twisted smile again, though this time there was no hiding the sadness. "I had thought nothing would change, that my heart would remain frozen. I suppose Athos must have felt the same, until now."

"I don't understand."

"We have both set eyes upon you Comptesse."

The protest died on her lips as his fingers curled under her chin, coaxing her forward just a little.

"Aramis?"

"I should have been there to protect you. I am so sorry Comptesse."

"Marie." She whispered, "My name is Marie."

They stared at each other, not speaking for a few moments until she reached forward with her left hand, hesitantly brushing the linen of his shirt, and curling her fingers into a loose knot. He leaned towards her and pressed a very gentle kiss against her lips; a moment's contact that stole away her breath, and a great deal of her reason.

"I want so much to touch you Marie."

She was struck dumb by the revelation, knowing that she must look foolish to him, a man with so much experience, staring wide eyed and mute back at him.

His sad smile grew a little broader.

"I am so sorry Comptesse, I forget myself, I should leave you to your peace." He pulled backwards, but found his progress halted by her small hand, fingers twined in his shirtfront.

"If I ask you to stay will you make me a promise?"

"If it is within my power."

"Can you promise me that you will not steal away into the darkness once you have had your pleasures? Can you promise me that you will stay till the sun rises, as if I was your lady, and not a nameless fancy?"

"You could never be a nameless fancy Marie. I can promise you that I will pray for a great storm to rise tonight that will block out the sun so that I may spend days with you wrapped in my arms."

"Such perfect words. You have a practiced tongue good sir."

"You have no idea." He spoke in a low voice, followed by a rakish laugh. She could not help but laugh as well; feeling a lightness sweep through her chest.

The second kiss was longer, warmer, deeper, his lips parting hers with a gentle pressure, his tongue inviting hers within. His beard was rough against her skin, still tender from her tears, his hands soft as they cupped the sides of her face, an embrace that spoke of his own fears that perhaps it wasn't real, a need to hold her to ensure himself that it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to very one who has continued to follow along on this little tale. It is sincerely appreciated.

Part 3

It had never been like this, wondering what to do, what she should or could do. Before it had been maids who had helped her into shapeless white shifts, she'd waited for her husband under the blankets of her bed. The act had been gentle, his kisses kind, and his professions of love wholly honest. But this, this was all new.

It had been bold on her part to curl her fingers into his shirt and hold him there before her, bold to take his kisses and feel his body pressed against hers, but to now feel his hands upon her waist, feel the pull that opened her robe to his gaze, that made her knees weaken such that she thought she might collapse to the floor again, that was the heart of abandon. She felt her lips part, heard her slow breath escape as she let her eyes close to just act as her heart insisted. The fingers she had tightened into the linen of his shirt pulled upwards carefully, freeing it from the waistband of his leathers, brushing against his bare skin, knowing that they both trembled with the contact. His strong hands pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it over the trunk at the foot of her bed. She stepped backwards, her arm extending so that her fingers continued to rest on his chest. He followed that step closer to her bed, his hands reaching for her hips as gentle as a promise. Looking down shyly she could see her own chest rising and falling beneath the fragile white shift. She could feel the fluttering anticipation in her gut.

"May I?" Aramis whispered, brushing his hand up along her side, fingering the ribbon that held the runching at her bodice. It took her the length of a careful breath until she could answer him with a nod of her head. Aramis rested one hand atop her chest curling the ribbon in between his fingers, and lifted the other hand to tip up her chin to gaze into her eyes, and bring his mouth down to cover hers. She felt the brief tug at the ribbon, and she felt the fabric slip off her shoulders to come to pool around her ankles. The shiver that took her was less from the cold, and more from the feel of his chest pressed against hers, his hands now circling her bare waist, fingers coaxing her backwards towards the bed in their wordless dance.

"Would you come to bed still wearing your boots?" She whispered into his ear. His laugh was like the chiming of bells as he released her and she slipped under the linens to hide herself. He sat on the trunk, alongside his discarded shirt and worked his boots off, setting them aside. As he rose she watched him put his hands on the waistband of his leathers, turning slowly to face her.

"Yes?" He asked, his head cocked a little to the side in question.

"Yes." She replied.

The shadows did little to conceal Aramis from her, though she turned her head away demurely as he let the last of his clothing fall away and he joined her under the covers. She turned carefully towards him in the bed, minding her still bandaged arm, taking in his beautiful smile, the way his eyes sparkled in the glow of the tapers and the way the shadows highlighted the tight muscles across his chest.

"I will never hurt you." He whispered.

"I know."

"But if there is anything I do, any touch, anything that makes you uncomfortable, or hurts you, you must tell me to stop Marie, please."

"I will Aramis."

"It's just," he reached for her, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers, "that you are so beautiful, I might lose my head, and I would never forgive myself if I caused you pain."

It was she that came to him, brushing her lips over his, feeling his arms encircle her and crush her to his chest, deepening the kiss, tangling with her, stealing her breath from her lungs. Aramis coaxed her onto her back, and, hovering over her, kissed her mouth, then her cheeks, then trailed down her throat, the tip of his tongue tracing along her skin, eliciting an unbidden moan from her, her head tilting backwards, taking in his attentions. The covers over her were pulled away by Aramis' hand, and his mouth, warm, insistent, lit on her chest, kissing her breast bone as his fingers carefully traced under her breasts, cupping them, and kneading them as she arched into the force. She cried out as his mouth took them as well, suckling against her, her left hand twining into his hair.

His hips rolled against hers, his desires obvious against her tender skin, his hand following their movement, drawing down her body, between them, curling around her thighs, parting her for him. His warm breath followed those hands; still raising gooseflesh with its caress. She expected the force of his flesh next, for that was always how it had always been, her vessel filled and her husband's motions against her, then his release. But it was not Aramis' body that he brought to her then that let slip the passions in her cry. It was his mouth that came tender between her legs, his touch fragile as she trembled beneath him, trying to catch a breath when her chest seemed to only flutter. Muscles tensed, her lips parted, her voice was stilled as Aramis' movements intensified until she could hold back no longer and gave herself to him completely, collapsing into the bedclothes as the wave stole her every sense.

She felt his fingers curl into hers, strength, confidence, desire radiating in his grip. Opening her eyes she met his; pupils wide, his heavy breaths audible. He remained hovering over her, begging with those deep brown eyes, for more.

"Please?" She whispered her own plea to him, and felt his body enter hers on a swift, deep stroke.

The way he moved brought life anew to a body she had thought was exhausted beyond any further action. She pushed herself against him in time, watching his face as his tensions grew, his eyes closed and the muscles in his jaw tightened around each panting breath. Resting her left hand against his arm she felt the power in the cords under his skin; even as he froze for an instant, his eyes flying open, looking down at her with a wide-eyed wonder. His release touched her very core, as did the way his countenance softened when its tides took him. He swept her up so tenderly and cradled her to his chest as he rolled his back onto the bed, kissing the top of her forehead, even as she tried to wipe her own tears away clumsily with her bandaged hand.

"Thank you." His words were nearly lost in his kisses. She let slip a tiny sob. "I have not hurt you have I?"

"No, I am well, it is just that, I have never felt so," she hunted for the word she wanted, "cherished, by anyone." She whispered.

"You are cherished." His embrace of her became tighter, flat palms against her chest and her belly pulled her into him. "You will always be cherished."

Sleep came much more easily that night. But the wished for storm did not come, only the sounds of the house coming to life again that forced Marie's eyes to flutter open. She felt instantly cold, and realized that she was alone under the quilts of the bed, for an instant her heart sank; until the first crackle of the fire drew her eyes to the hearth.

Aramis knelt there in front of the slowly growing flames, adding larger pieces of wood to the grate, coaxing warmth back into the room. She watched him without speaking, her eyes taking in the sight of him. His shoulders were broad and strong, the muscles capping them, as wide as the leather pauldron he had worn with the insignia of his service. There were old scars across his back jagged and white tearing the otherwise healthy skin like cracks in a parchment. But despite that, his back seemed as solid as the chest that had held her that past night, his form tapering to his waist, the body beneath still just as tight. It made her smile, the comfort and familiarity they seemed to have bred in only a single night; though perhaps it had been longer than that, perhaps it had been the length of their winter journey that had sown and germinated the seeds of whatever this now was.

It was hard not to think, as he knelt there in front of the flames that were beginning to catch, just how very different their lives had been to that point. As she looked at those scars, and the muscles, she wondered how they had truly been cast into each other's orbits. She had lived a life of privilege, raised in a good home, plentiful food, books to read, tutors and opportunity; even as a girl. She had wanted for very little, certainly nothing material, while Aramis had not grown up in that manner, he had worked for everything he had, it was obvious. His hands, though soft, were strong; embedded with calluses from wielding a sword, a pistol, and a bow, were so ingrained as to be part of him it seemed. The scars on his back spoke not only of battle, but also of a harsh punishment from some other source. Marie had seen people whipped before, the idea had never pleased her, but such decisions had been out of her hands. She would never forget the lacey patchwork of welts such a beating raised. It pained her to see them on his skin. The hair that fell forward over his face was kempt, but had not been cut by a skilled hand; while hers had always been brushed and braided, and pinned. His posture reminded her of a penitent, one at prayer, so still, yet so powerful in stature. Even his nakedness bore that out, as if he presented himself to God in his only pure, honest form. It was hard to keep the tears from pooling in her eyes again, looking over at such grace, frightened to disturb it, wondering at the power of her own sins in comparison to him; he who was so pure. As if he sensed that discord, he raised his head from his prayers and turned slowly to look at her, a smile blooming on his face.

"Good morning my Comptesse."

"If I am your Comptesse, would that make you my Musketeer?" She replied in a quiet voice.

"If that is what you wish."

She did not look away as he stood up and walked back to the bed, slipping beneath the quilts with her. He was beautiful, just the sight of him made her tremble.

"Are you cold? I wanted to start the fire up for you again so when you woke it would be warm."

"I am not cold." She professed, even as she held the blankets up around her breasts.

"And so morning has come."

"It has."

"And what now my Comptesse?"

It was a conversation neither of them seemed to wish to have; so quiet were their voices.

"I don't know Aramis. I know what I wish for, but it is a selfish thing. I should not speak it."

"I wish you would." He stroked her cheek.

"Aramis." Her smile was sad.

"I would stay if I could Marie."

"But you cannot, you have a duty to King and country. And so I must watch you leave."

"Do you wish me to go now, before your servants arrive to attend you?"

It would have been simpler to let him steal away, to lie by omission to everyone, perhaps even to herself, to pretend that nothing had happened between them, that she had spent the night alone. Yes it would have been easier; but she had nothing to be ashamed of in her choice of companions. Of course, those thoughts only considered her feelings; what of Aramis' desires?

"Perhaps you would prefer that the others not know?" She asked him.

"They are my brothers, I will not lie to them, unless you command it of me."

"Then we are at a stalemate. For I would do what you would ask, and you would do what I would ask."

"You have only just arrived in Paris Marie, perhaps it would be best if no one spoke of liaisons with your guard. There will no doubt be many men of higher status than I who will seek your attentions. You should be free to engage with them."

"What do you mean?"

"Your name, and your title will draw admirers, your brother may have already chosen a husband for you."

"He will do no such thing." She knit her brows and pursed her lips at the thought. "Such was not the reason for my return to Paris."

Aramis grinned.

"No, perhaps he will not. But there will be men my Comptesse." He cradled her cheek in his palm. "Your reputation must remain unsullied by the gossip of servants."

She sighed.

"I had hoped to take a graceful retirement from such things."

"You will be expected at court at some point. My name is not so much appreciated there. It would be best perhaps, if I did leave you before we were discovered."

"It would not be my wish, but I understand your reasoning Aramis, and we will do as you suggest."

He leaned over and pressed a simple kiss against her mouth.

"Let me help you to dress, and I will re-bandage your arm."

The help was appreciated, especially the tenderness he showed as he sat her down at her dressing table and began to brush out, and then braid her hair for her. A skill that came from familiarity she thought, as his fingers danced through the plaits, wrapping and pinning it up as efficiently as she could have done herself, but for the loss of the use of her right hand. She watched him in her dressing mirror, concentrating on her, only joining her reflected gaze as he placed the last of the pins.

"When will I see you again Aramis?" She hated how her voice trembled as she spoke, and how her eyes were glistening with tears as she looked at him, already feeling the loss.

"Perhaps I could return to you on Sunday, and escort you to services? If you would like that."

The heavy weight on her chest lifted just a little.

"I would like that very much."

His grin was back, and she watched him in the mirror as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"And after church, I shall take you to heaven."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

APOV

It was a terrible thing to leave her there, at her dressing table, knowing I should protect her from scandal, but wanting so much to stay. Denying myself that wanting had become such an ingrained part of me that saying the words out loud must have sounded emotionless to her; when they really were not. Truthfully, at least to myself, trying to beat down the wanting of Anne, I had never thought that I might feel that way about any other woman. My surprise at that revelation was hidden by the instinct to protect her from me, from what my name had done to another, or threatened to do. Was I truly a threat to her I asked of myself? Would it have been so devastating to have been found in her bed? Not for me, I suppose, by virtue of my sex I had much greater latitude in my activities than she. And she was a beautiful woman, even if she called herself old. It would not have been out of place to take another husband from the gentry, and there would most certainly be those who would crave her title, or at least the association with it. Who was I to stand in the way of that prospect for her; I, who had nothing to offer but kindness and pleasure; surely a poor currency.

All these things assaulted me as I made my way back to the rooms that had kindly been provided for my brothers and I. I hoped that my arrival would be made unobserved; I hoped it was early enough in the day, but it had not been. Perhaps Athos had not even slept that night passed? I found him leaned over a small table in the room, the remnants of a generous breakfast in front of him. Porthos was nowhere to be seen, and perhaps that was for the best.

Athos looked up at me, I could not tell if he was angry, distressed, or drunk. He was always one to keep his emotions in close check. It made him a good soldier, but sometimes a difficult friend. I also did not know how I felt upon seeing him again. I had not considered that during my walk back from her room.

"Where have you been?" He asked as I sat down across from him.

"I suspect you already have an idea." I didn't mean to come off as confrontational, but I suspect that I did, especially remembering how I had found her curled on the floor, holding her broken wrist. Athos was my friend, but he had done something I didn't know if I could forgive.

"You were with her." He said in a toneless voice. I admired that he had not reproached me immediately.

I didn't want to lie to him, but I also had to respect what I had said to Marie.

"I went to check on her after I saw you return. I was concerned." I chose my words carefully.

"Concerned that she had chosen to give herself to me as well as you?"

"Athos, please, do not say such things. You are a better man than that."

"Am I?"

"I have always believed so. I have never heard you speak viciously against an innocent creature such as you have with Marie."

"Marie is it? Such familiarity you have been accorded Aramis. Does it come with a kiss, or with something far more intimate?"

"Enough." I hissed it through my teeth, holding back against slamming the table with my fist.

I could not describe the look on his face just then; it wasn't smug, it wasn't angry, it was perhaps best described as confrontational; a thing I could not reconcile with my friend. My heart spoke before my mind.

"You broke her arm."

I said it quietly. I kept my tone as even as I could, though I suspect that some sadness was audible in it. I watched his face fall, his eyes widen and his jaw slacken, in what I hoped was the realization of the truth of his actions.

"I don't understand." He whispered.

"When you grabbed her wrist, in anger, you crushed it."

"I didn't realize."

"I have tended to it as best I can, but she will need to see a real doctor now that morning has come."

His sigh was deep and so very uncertain.

"What will she tell her brother? What will you tell Treville?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I don't understand."

"She would not have your career, and your life ruined by a mistake. She is a kind woman, far above the scorn you have heaped on her."

He shook his head. I could see that he was trying to process all I had told him.

"I should, I should," he stuttered as he stared at his hands. "I should go and see her, thank her for her forgiveness."

I clapped my hand over his arm before he could move it and held him fast.

"No."

"Aramis?"

"I said no. You have misunderstood me Athos; she has not forgiven you. She still blames herself for what happened, not you. But I will not have you frighten her again, or make her doubt herself. Nothing she did, whatever it was that happened between you, deserved that response."

"It did not, you are correct."

"You are my friend Athos, but whatever it is that has brought you to this state I plead with you to dismiss it, because I cannot stand with you if I cannot trust you."

"I have been a fool."

"More than that."

"I never intended to hurt her. Please Aramis, believe that."

"I do Athos, that is not the man who I have fought and bled with these many years. He would never do something like this."

"It wasn't her."

"I know."

I did, whether he knew the depths of that understanding or not I could not say. Milady de Winter was a deadly poison to Athos; her appearance in Paris had unhinged him. I do not profess to know what exactly transpired between them, but it had left my friend mired in a sorrow deeper than any I had seen prior; and it had sent him to his cups.

"We should return to the barracks, Porthos has already gone to see to the horses."

"I agree. Best to get home."

"Will you come back to check on her Aramis?"

"I will."

"Please, if the opportunity presents itself, and it causes her no further sorrow, tell the Comptesse that I am deeply sorry for what I have done, and that the fault is all mine."

I nodded, what else could I do? I took up a piece of bread from the leftover breakfast tray and began to eat. It tasted sour in my mouth, and the water did little to change that. It wasn't that the food was bad, far from it, it was still warm and fragrant, and loaded with fresh butter it would have otherwise been a very welcome meal. I could not help but wonder, just then, whom it was I was betraying. It was a blessing when Porthos returned, loaded his pockets with apples and grabbed up the heel of the loaf with his ever-present grin. Whatever he saw between Athos and I, he did not let on that he had recognized it as anything but fatigue. We three left together for the stables.

I don't know that I expected to slip away without rousing the rest of the household, but I had not expected both Marie and her brother to come to see us off. They were standing in the small courtyard of the chateau as we led our horses from the stables, both wrapped in cloaks against the chill of the dim morning. Along with the taste of my breakfast, I had also not noticed the cold; or perhaps it was imply that I already felt chilled to my marrow and it did not matter.

"Good gentlemen." Marie's brother approached us, she following a few steps behind him. "I thank you again for bringing my sister safely back to us. You have done us a great service." Of course he addressed himself to Athos.

"It was our pleasure." Athos tipped his head gracefully.

"I do hope that we will have occasion to see you all again. You are always welcome within these walls."

"Thank you sir." He paused, I knew the nervousness he was feeling, I had felt it myself, whether he should address the woman before him, or not, and which action would seem the greater disrespect. "My Lady." He removed his hat and bowed very low. Porthos did the same, so of course I followed suit, though I watched her face the entire time, looking for the smallest smile that would assure me that she was well.

"You have all been so kind." She whispered hesitantly, enough that I noticed, her brother as well. She extended her left hand, holding her right still close to her chest. I saw that someone had tied a sling for her, and that she wore no glove, likely because she did not have anything that would fit over the bandages. I took her hand, held it for longer than I likely should have, and kissed it slowly, breathing in the scent of the lavender on her skin.

"Dearest Marie? What has happened to your hand?" I froze, I felt her do the same. The pause in her answer as I stood slowly was laced with tension.

"It was my horse James."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I was so happy to see the gates of the chateau at the end of the journey I spurred him on before I had a proper grip on the reigns. It snapped my hand rather fiercely. I had not even noticed the injury until I removed the gauntlet the Musketeers so graciously lent me."

She paused for a breath, gauging, I believe, her brother's expression.

"Aramis was kind enough to bind it for me when he came to retrieve the leathers."

James looked from her to I.

"You should have a doctor look at it sir, my knowledge of medicine is limited to battle injuries. She should have a proper splint and wrappings."

"Of course." His confusion seemed genuine. "We will see to it immediately. I thank you again for caring for her Aramis."

He bundled her up and back into the house before we even mounted our horses. Our ride back to the barracks was quiet.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday could not have come more slowly. Though I did not avoid Athos, neither did we seek each other out to speak about what had happened. I am certain that Porthos understood some sort of tension between us, but we had not yet let that discomfort so affect our duties that he felt compelled to call either of us out on it. I suspect D'Artagnan, who had not originally accompanied us, saw it as well. Perhaps he had asked Porthos about it, perhaps not. His mind had been more occupied with the cadets and with his wife of late. Our ranks had been quite depleted lately; what with the tensions with Spain, and the skirmishes that went along with them.

Out of respect, or perhaps familiarity with Athos as my friend and captain I told him that I was leaving the garrison on Sunday to go to church; it was not an unusual absence at all, especially for me. He knew, though he did not say it, that I was going to see Marie. That morning, even before the dawn had risen, he met me in the stables as I was preparing my horse, and quietly asked me to again convey his remorse, and his desire to seek her forgiveness in person. I do not know that I could recall such contrition on his part; and of such a duration. It seemed as though it weighed on him very heavily. I put my hand atop his shoulder; to steady us both I think, and promised that I would speak with her. After all, my captain and my friend was a lesser man with that weight, and for the good of us all, I needed to attempt to relieve it.

Bundled in a winter cloak I urged my horse to keep a good pace against the cold air as we rode to the Chateau. My mind strayed; as it was want to do when disturbed. I thought of Athos, I thought of her, and I thought of her brother; with whom I had only had a few brief interactions. I wondered if he intended that Marie marry again, to cement another alliance. She was young, certainly young enough to have more children. She had a title, even if she had intended for her oldest son to take it on, now that he would be overseeing his father's house. A title, no matter what came along with it, was worth a great deal at court, and everyone in Paris seemed to be seeking an entrance or an audience at court. And, of course, there was the king himself. In the many dealings I had had with him, I found him to be a mercurial man. Given, at times, to flights of fancy, recklessness, and indulgence; yet at other times cruel, vindictive and angry. Though he had given Anne little in the years since the birth of her son besides a chair to sit upon and occasions to attend at his side, he remained her husband, if not her friend or lover. He himself had taken many lovers over the years. I suppose it was his prerogative as King. Whatever his motives, selfishness, punitive, it was no one's place to question. I pushed such thoughts from my mind. It did me no good to dwell on such things far above my rank and beyond my abilities to change. Anne was as trapped in her situation, as I was in mine. And though I mourned for her, I respected what she had asked of me, and what I knew I had to give her. Peace. It had been hard, an aching knot in my gut at every quiet moment, at every glimpse of her. Going away, purging myself of those desires had been the only choice; and after those long years I had finally found enough peace within myself, that when my brothers had come to call, I had felt ready to rejoin them.

And then had come the Comptesse.

I had not set out to seduce her, or fall for her beauty when I helped her at the Inn to fasten her gear. Indeed, I had seen the friendship that had seemed to be burgeoning between her and Athos, and was happy for him; he, of all of us, had had little hand in the situation that fate had deposited him within. Mi Lady had haunted him since he left his home, thinking her dead by his order. And whether she appeared as a ghost in his dreams, or in her physical form to torture and torment him, the effect was the same: a misery that underpinned most everything he did.

When Marie had suddenly drawn away from him I was confused, but still concerned with my duty, and if she would not ride with him, I would certainly take up that post. She was charming in a shy way, intelligent, and elegant. How could I not protect her from any harm? How could I not go to her, and stay with her, and take her in my arms? What had I done in opening my heart to another? What was I doing racing back to her? Doubt from so many fronts began to assault me. Damn these long quiet rides with no one for company but the angel and devil that sat upon my shoulders.

The smoke from the Chateau's chimneys became visible as the sun rose, a matte grey against the rose colored sky. For a brief moment I wondered if I should turn back, ride away before I had to face her again; to have rejection or regret perhaps, written upon her face to greet me. In a selfish moment, I wondered about my own hurt if she were to rebuke me. Of course, just being with her myself was selfish; she could have a good life, a good man, one who could attend to her daily, be with her at all times, be in a marriage with her; where all I could offer was stolen moments as my duties allowed. Was that what she needed? No, she deserved a man of her station. But yet I could not turn around; so much did I want her.

I was doomed.

I rode through the gates to a home that was already well awake. Servants crossed the small courtyard with baskets and pails, and a stablehand met me as I dismounted, as if I had been expected. That thought made my heart feel a little lighter., if she had directed her servants to watch for me, perhaps my visit was happily anticipated? I was directed to the small chapel on the property; something I had not noticed on my first visit. It had been dark after all.

The doors were open, despite the winter chill, the priest, or his helpers had sparked the fire and the candles had been lit. I inhaled the soothing scent of the beeswax and let the peace of the place overtake me. Though its construction was different than that of the monastery where I had closeted myself, the space held the same grace within. For that calm I was immensely thankful. Approaching the altar, I knelt and crossed myself, staying on my knees to offer silent prayers, as I had been used to doing. I heard the hesitant footsteps behind me against the stone floor, gently knocking snow from her soles. I stood; of course I could not possibly have known who it was, yet I did. Lowering my hood I waited for her reaction to me. It was as quiet as her steps, but spoke as loud as a battle cry in my ears.

"Aramis."

"Oh God, Marie." Her rush into my arms was glorious, and I forgot myself and where I was in picking her up and pressing my mouth to hers, even as I crushed her small frame against my chest. "I have missed you so much."

Yes, quite doomed.

"I was so afraid you wouldn't come." She whispered to me, when I allowed her the moment to take a breath between my kisses.

"I made you a promise. I will always keep my promises Marie."

When I let her feet rest back on the floor she sought out my right hand, with her left, clutching at it and bringing it to her lips for a gentle kiss; and only then was I was reminded of her injury.

"Your hand?" I inquired, afraid that in my zeal to hold her again, that I could have crushed it.

"Is healing." She smiled and showed me the new bindings and the carefully carved (it seemed) splint that it rested in.

"Your physician has done a good job."

'Not as gentle a touch as yours, but the support has helped me avoid accidentally injuring it further."

"And what does he say?"

"A few weeks and I will be able to start using it carefully again; brushing my hair, using a knife at meals. It will be summer before I dare ride again, so it will be carriages and blankets for me this winter sadly."

"But you will do whatever he says, yes?"

"You sound like James." She chided me.

"Then whomever this gentleman is, he must be quite wise indeed."

The voice behind us fairly filled the small space of the church, I had not been paying close enough attention, and I admonished myself for that silently as her brother came up the aisle. At least, I comforted myself, he had not caught us in the more private embrace of only a few moments past.

"Aramis has come to join us at services today James. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Anything that puts a smile on your face is pleasing to me little sister. I am glad to see you again Monsieur. Have you come on your own, or have the other Musketeers come to avail themselves of our soft-spoken cleric, and the bounty of our kitchens for a meal?"

"I came at your sister's gracious invitation Sir. I did not intend to intrude on your family meal." For a moment I was quite concerned that he was not truly as happy at my appearance as he had made out to be.

"Nonsense Aramis, it was my invitation and it most certainly will include good food and drink, especially to warm you after your journey. I am still indebted to you for your care."

"She has a generous spirit, my sister, so much like our mother did. I fear that woman's lessons are yet lost on me. I took after my father, who but for his wife, would likely have found little success in life. I am glad to have my sister home to care for me, and our household once again. Too long have we suffered without the hand of a good woman to guide us."

Marie broke into laughter, quickly covering her mouth, more aware of our surroundings than I had been.

"You have done just fine without me James."

"Have you not noticed how much happier the denizens of our little Chateau are now that you are here to run things."

"I cannot say I have heard any unkind words about you from anyone James."

"Then I still exude a slight air of fear then, excellent."

His own laughter was not stifled. He reminded me a great deal of Porthos just then: possessed of a joie de vivre that Athos and I had long been lacking.

"Come and sit then good sir Aramis, and let your spirit be saved and then we will fill it again with meat and wine."

How could I refuse the invitation?


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Marie must have told the cooks to prepare for the entire garrison; or at least it seemed like that as dish after dish was laid out on the table before us three. James poured wine (liberally) from an earthenware pitcher, and the scent of fresh bread and roasted chickens surrounded us in the dinning room.

"It all seems a little obscene, doesn't it Aramis?" James leaned over to me, a goblet in his hand.

I hesitated to respond, not wanting to seem ungracious.

"It is a bountiful spread Sir."

"Sir? What nonsense is that? You must call me James, at least while we share a table and drink."

"James," I conceded, "Your generosity is greatly appreciated. Supplies at the garrison are always in short supply it seems these days; so many new mouths to feed as new soldiers come to us, and old return from battle."

"And I wouldn't have you worry Aramis." Marie's voice was quieter than her brother's was, but I could hear the same confidence in them both. "What isn't eaten now will be turned into pies for a late supper, or a hearty soup for anyone within the house who needs it."

"Our mother always saw to that." James added. "We both are happy to carry on such a tradition."

"Your household is a lucky one then."

"Much luckier to have my sister back."

"He will tire of me soon I imagine. Then what will become of me?" Marie said with a smile, directed at her brother. That simple word-play betrayed such happiness. I could almost believe that she had put away any thought of what had happened less than a week before. Had it only been a few weeks now that I had known her? Twelve days to fall in love with her?

Had I said doomed before?

I tried to avoid imbibing too much; not completely confident of being able to maintain my composure as James continued to talk and share stories with me as if I were an old friend. It was tempting to add in my own tales and share such familiarity with him as I would have with Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. But even more tempting was the beautiful woman between us, whose smile at our banter was more than charming.

Eventually though, servants cleared away the plates, and though James offered port in the library Marie declined, on behalf of us both, saying that she wanted to give me a proper tour of the house, as she had not been able to extend that hospitality on my first visit. James did not seem inclined to argue, but elicited a promise that I would join him for a game of chess, or some such type of match before I left that day. The brothers at the monastery had been similarly welcoming; just without the abundance of alcohol, but conversations there were limited to those of a much less secular nature than I thought James might wish to share. He almost seemed a little starved for company; or perhaps I was just a novelty for him? A person who had not yet heard his tales? My skills at board games were rather lacking, but I thought that perhaps that would not concern him so much.

I followed Marie back to the front of the house, where she showed me the library James had spoken of, his game set up by the fire awaiting competitors, the fire itself burning happily. The walls were lined with full bookshelves and I turned with some sense of wonder towards Marie.

"Did you grow up with all these books?"

She smiled shyly and nodded.

"What adventures you must have reading them."

"I was blessed with that to be certain."

"What the monks would have given for something like this, amazing."

"You are welcome here whenever you wish Aramis, avail yourself of the books and the warm fire."

"That is very kind, thank you." I knew that I could have spent months closeted in that room and never once regretted it. If only the world could have granted me that much time.

"My mother's sewing room is just down this hall, past my father's study, now James' sanctuary." she motioned with her free hand down the hall towards the back of the house. The room she led me to was a bright space, with many windows so that the shinning sun warmed it nearly as well as the fireplace; which hadn't been lit.

"I spent many hours here as well, learning the womanly arts." She grinned, "at least for as long as my mother had the patience for trying to teach me. I never inherited her skill at needlework, preferring to escape to the stables to watch the horses or hide in the library. The pictures on the walls are hers. I'm so glad that James left them in place, and left this room as she had."

"You miss her?"

"It has been a very long time that she has been gone."

"Sometimes time does not dull the ache of a loss like that."

"I suppose I miss her being here, in this house, this is where I remember her best of all. She was here when I left, it seems wrong that she not be here now."

I nodded, trying to be respectful of that space that was clearly so important to her.

"Your brother, he never married?" I wondered why no other woman had inherited this room.

"No."

"You sound sad about that Marie."

"James was so upset at my father when I was sent away to marry my husband that he swore he would never marry unless I returned, to deny my father the legacy of his name."

"He loved you very much."

"And still does. This is why I know that he will never arrange another marriage for me, at least not without my consent. While I was gone I wrote him letters, trying to reassure him that I was happy, that my husband was kind, that he should not deny himself the kind of joy that a full house and children would bring. He swore to me that this house and all its lands would go to my second son, to try to make amends for what was done to me."

"It must have caused a great rift between him and your father."

"I imagine it did, though he never spoke of it in his letters, and neither did my mother."

"Protecting you?"

"So it would seem." She turned around in the doorway of the room, looking over at all the artwork, the sewing basket still tucked beside a high backed chair and stool, coming back to look at me. "Perhaps I have always had protectors."

"You are worth protecting."

"I fear the cost it has placed on other people." She pursed her lips together and smiled a little sadly.

"Enough of this, enough wistful memories and sadness, let me show you a place that is full of brilliance and light."

The staircase was hidden, such that I would never have noticed it if I had just been walking past its little nook in the darkened hallway. No doubt meant for servants it was rough-hewn stone and darkened wood, curling upwards to a balcony, one that overlooked a great ballroom. Once it had been home to a choir it seemed, risers were now stacked against the back wall, with dusty music stands grouped together in a symmetrical forest of oiled wood, likewise pushed into a corner.

"I used to sneak up here when I was a girl. When mother and father would have parties. So I could listen to the musicians, and watch the beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen dance and dream about when it would be my turn. Just look at it Aramis, the paintings and tapestries on the walls, over there," she pointed to the nearer wall to us, "that was where the musicians would stand, father always found such fine ones to entertain his guests. I remember when mother brought home the Flemish tapestries, how amazed I was by the beauty of such fine weaving and the tales they showed, of magical beasts and heroes."

"Servants would weave their way around, like a dance of their own. It all seemed like the inner workings of a clock, the gears turning amongst themselves, ladies with skirts spinning and gentlemen with coat tails. Is it not the most beautiful vision you have ever seem Aramis?"

She was turned towards the expanse, speaking out to it, and yet also to me. But my gaze was not on the room, or the tapestries or the gilt ornaments.

"Yes, the most beautiful thing in the world." I spoke it quietly and watched her turn towards me.

"Aramis?"

"Marie, you are more beautiful than any painting or any jewel. And I want you desperately right now."

"Aramis?"

"I swear, if you don't lead me next to your bedroom I shall make love to you right here in this loft."

Tears seemed to mist in her eyes.

"God help me, I have missed you so much Aramis."

And she was in my arms.

Her hand seemed to tremble a little as she took mine, leading me back down the stairs and through some other hallways I half recognized. The path was just as urgent now, it seemed, as it had been then; a pounding heart driving me forward. But now I knew, I hoped I knew, what I might find behind that bedroom door.

It was she that slipped the bolt behind us, head shyly bowed, shoulders rising and falling with audible breaths. And it was she that slipped the sling from around her neck, freeing her right arm from its support, able then to tug at the laces of her overcoat. I had my own shirt off and cast over her dressing screen before she even had the first few eyelets freed. Coming up behind her I wrapped my arms around her, cautiously brushing her fingers away and taking up the duty myself. I felt her lean back against me with a long sigh. She was warm against my chest, her skin, now exposed as she shrugged away the long sleeves of the dress. I ran my hands slowly down her arms, feeling the trembling, spurring my own.

"Thank you." I whispered, as I bent to nuzzle into her neck. Her delicate moan made me catch my breath.

"Come to bed with me my Musketeer."

"As you command, my Comptess."


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

To have her in my arms once again was better than any memory or dream, such as I had used to comfort myself in my lonely bed in the garrison. Her skin was as silk, my hands gliding over her, curving her, willing her to match me. And she did, with no hesitation, as if she herself had suffered from the same longing that I had. I needed no words, her permission was implicit as I brought myself to her, entering her, dancing within her, stealing her breaths with my mouth as we moved.

I moved slowly at first, drawing out every building sensation, committing every shock, shudder and sigh to memory. But as my tensions built, so did my vigor, as, God love her, she encouraged every desire. She was so beautiful to me, with ruby lips, the sheen of our lovemaking upon her skin, her eyes liquid, but this time, not with tears, at least not tears of pain and sorrow. I prayed I would never see such a thing in her eyes ever again. Lost in her, I felt her left hand suddenly clutch around my shoulders as she pulled her chest to mine, tensed, and softened as I caught her and held her, and gave myself to her as honestly as I was able.

I cradled her carefully against me, minding her arm, but desperate to cling to her for as long as I could, as hard as I could. Feeling her head laid against my chest, and her soft breaths against my skin put me in mind of nothing but that moment. And we allowed ourselves to rest in that place for a good long time, doing nothing but brushing fingertips and lips gently.

But I had to break the spell.

"Marie?"

Her sigh was endearing, as she curled herself further against me.

"You must go, mustn't you?"

"Soon I think. But there is something I must ask you, and I am afraid to do it."

"You? Afraid? A Musketeer? Is the question so dire?"

"I never want to say anything that could hurt you."

"And now you have me frightened Aramis."

"It is in regards to Athos."

I felt her body freeze against mine, loving fingers locked still against my chest, and an indrawn breath that filled me with instant regret.

"You should just say it then Aramis."

"He is devastated by his actions. The regret controls his every action. He is disconsolate, and seeks only your leave to offer a proper apology, and to beg your forgiveness."

She said nothing, only stared at me with her wide brown eyes, pleading, it seemed.

"He will come here, at any time you should command him."

"No."

I had not expected that answer, though perhaps I should have.

"I will not have him here Aramis."

"I understand."

"He is your friend?"

"He has saved my life more times than I can remember. What happened, what he did to you, it tested that friendship dearly. But I have to believe that it was an aberration in an exemplary character."

"I will come to your garrison then. I will listen to him there. If we are overheard there I trust it will go no further; Musketeers are not so prone to gossip I presume."

"Thank you Marie."

"I cannot promise that my words to him will ease his pain, just as his words to me will not heal mine."

She rolled away from me, I dared to reach out for her, resting my hand against her back. I could feel her trembling and I hated myself for keeping my promise to Athos. At least she did not pull away at my touch that gave me some hope that I had not ruined any trust she had in me.

"You will be there, at the garrison, when I come to hear him?" Her voice was hesitant.

"I promise."

"I do this for you Aramis."

"I know."

"I need a few moments please, could you, could you give me that?"

I leaned towards her and brushed my lips along her shoulder.

"Anything my Comatose."

I found my way back to the library easily enough; trying not to think about the woman I had left behind, who was most surely crying now. Crying because of me. The warm greeting I received as I stepped into the room made me feel ill at ease.

James had a half full glass of brandy in his hand, if I was any judge of the colored liquid. He had been sitting near the fire, but stood as I entered.

"Ah good, Marie has tired of you and you have come to play chess!"

"I don't know if there is time to play a proper game, not if I am to ride for the city before dark."

"Humor me Aramis, and at least start a game with me."

How could I refuse?

The beginnings of our game and conversation were wholly normal. The pieces were set, the drinks poured (or in James' case, refilled), and the fire warming the expanse of the library. It seemed so foreign to me, being in such a room, treated, it seemed, as an equal to the man before me, a landowner, wealthy, in the confidence of the king, every inch noble; even without a title. He enquired as to my military experience, regaling in the tales of muck and adventure. I felt my apprehension beginning to wane. Perhaps that was a mistake?

"As a Musketeer, your reputation for honour and loyalty precede you." He raised his glass to me, and I did the same, the game somewhat left behind.

"I thank you for that sir."

"Then why is it, I wonder, why you and my sister are hiding something from me?"

I froze, my mouth suddenly dry. I had no idea how to respond, how to defend her, and our actions. Afraid, just then, that he was not perhaps, the gentle man Marie had painted him to be, but in fact had designs on her title and suitability to remarry.

He threw back the rest of the brandy in his glass, as he stood, turning away from me as he spoke.

"Do you think me a fool?"

"No sir, of course not." Any thoughts of familiarity were banished. I waited for his angry outburst, admonishing me for the intimacy I had taken with his sister.

"My sister," he began, "has ridden horses since almost before she could walk."

I was confused, was he attempting some sort of metaphor, hoping to belittle me?

"There is no possible way that she broke her wrist holding onto the reigns of a horse."

For a brief moment the compression across my chest abated.

"So tell me who broke it."

"Sir, I'm sorry."

"Was it you?"

"No sir, I swear, it was not I. I would never harm her."

"Then one of your companions? Someone has hurt my sister and I intend to discover who it was."

"This is," I stuttered, "perhaps a better conversation to have with your sister."

"What is a better conversation to have with me?"

I thanked God that Marie chose that moment to join us.

"Forgive me sister, but I need to know the truth of what happened to your arm."

She looked at me, my blank look likely betraying the truth that I had not answered James' interrogation.

"It is as I have said to you darling brother, the fault was mine, an accident and nothing sinister." She crossed to him and took up his hand in her free one, squeezing it. "Thank you for your concern. You have always protected me James, and I love you for it."

"The thought of any harm coming to you Marie,"

"I know." She let herself be drawn into his great chest. "I am blessed to have you, and to have found such a friend as I have in Aramis as well. I feel as if nothing in the whole world could harm me now, not with you two at my side."

He looked at me, over her head, trying to determine, I think, if I was to be trusted. I did not blame him, because I was lying to him, as was she, and I imagine he knew that. I would be complicit in the deception because she had asked it of me, but it still made me feel uneasy to look her brother in the eye and understand that.

"I should be on my way I think." I said quietly. "I will lose the light soon, and I fear I may have already overstayed my welcome here."

James seemed hesitant to respond to me, but Marie was not.

"You will always be welcome here Aramis." She smiled at me and then up at her brother with a reassuring softness in her cheeks and her eyes.

"If you make my beloved sister this happy Aramis, then I must agree that you will always be welcome. But I expect, as her brother, that you will never dishonor her, or I swear that you will certainly regret the decision."

"James!"

"Marie, please, I understand your brother, and I make the promise to him, and to you, that I shall never allow harm to come to you, from myself, or from anyone else."


End file.
